Father and Son
by Aloony
Summary: Lucius has trained his son since he was born. Now it has paid off. Oneshot. Rating for disturbing situations, implied incest, implied slash, blood, and betrayal.


**_Title: Father and Son_**

_**Author:** Aloony_

_**Summary:** Lucius has trained his son since he was born. Now it has paid off. _

_**Rating:** PG13 for disturbing situations, implied incest, implied slash, blood, and betrayal. _

_**Disclaimer:** I don't own nothing, and nothing don't own me. (All Harry Potter characters, names, etcetera, etcetera, belong to J.K Rowling and various publishers. No copyright infringement intended (Don't sue!))_

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_ F_rom a soft, warm toddler in my arms, he has grown into this. At long last, my hopes and dreams have been fulfilled. He is now cold, hard. Steel. I trained him to be that way. You could even say that I made him. As a young boy, he had still been innocent, due mostly to his fool of a mother's incessant coddling. But I had taught my son how to see the world around him.

Those who were weak, or innocent, always lost. The strong, cunning and intelligent persevered. I taught that lesson to him. I proudly taught my son how to manipulate, how to always get what he wanted. When he was younger, I needed to isolate him. Keep him away from other children, away from all other life. Slowly, I started reducing the time he was allowed to spend with his mother. Once that was down to one hour a week, I started slowly keeping him in his room for longer.

Eventually, the only person he was ever allowed to see, or speak with until Hogwarts, was me. Only me. He is MY son after all. I cherished him, and he is devoted to me. I believe that if given the choice he would stay with me, only me, forever.

Back then, whenever we would have balls, or parties, my little son would make an appearance. For a whole week before any event, I trained my boy hard. I taught him how to treat the lower purebloods at the parties, how to be respectful, and disdainful. I taught him to be a proper Malfoy. Showed him how someone of his status should act.

The most horribly painful time for me when he was growing, was when he was around six. He had started crying, his wonderful, flawless porcelain skin turning red and blotchy with tears. I believe he had woken from a dream of his mother, and had cried out for her. I don't know how he could recall the woman, as he hadn't seen her in about two years by that point. The moment the hot tears had started to spill down his face, I had smacked him across the cheek.

"Malfoys do not cry," I had told him sternly. "You do want to be a Malfoy, don't you son?" I had asked. He had looked up at me then, his eyes wide, slightly fearful. The tears quickly stopped, and his high voice whispered a response. "Yes, father."

I had thought that it was the end of all his emotional nonsense, but I was quickly proven wrong when he had smiled at a house-elf. And thanked it. At that moment, I thought I could see all my plans flying away, right before my very eyes. Anger and disappointment surged quickly over me and I grabbed the boy by his arms. "Why are you thanking this creature?" My poor son, he looked so terrified. But it was only for his own good, as this strong boy now in front of me proves.

"Father, he told me a joke. I found it funny. You said it was polite to thank someone after speaking with them. You said it showed our class." His pale face was so open. It was agonizing. Only then did I was realize how much training we had left to do.

"Son, you do not thank lower beings. Nor do you smile at them. You shouldn't even associate with them! Have I taught you nothing?" The boy whimpered and looked away, and I noticed the creature still standing there, horrified, but waiting to be dismissed. I took both my son and the servant down to the dungeons. I made Draco chain the elf up and kill him slowly. I noticed more crystalline tears falling down the boy's face, and decided to leave him down in the dungeon for awhile. As I climbed the stone steps and heard his young voice calling after me, I was devastated, naturally, but if the father doesn't teach his son, who will?

A few days after that, I went down to see my son. He was curled up in the corner of the cell I had put him in. He looked so tragic.

"Draco, I expected to see more dignity from you. Huddling in the corner like an animal certainly does not befit a Malfoy. I brought some bread and some water for you. I will be back in a few days to see your progress and you know how I feel about weak sniveling creatures such as yourself. I will make you a strong man yet." The boy had painfully stood up from the corner of the cell, empty and lost eyes staring into my own.

All he had said to me was a polite, respectful, "Yes, Father." When I went down to see him a few days later, he had been sitting in the middle of the cell, his six-year-old body carefully poised. He was dirty and had lost a few pounds, but it worked out in the end. When I walked in, he had stood and bowed his head respectful, all hunger, devastation and anger trying to be carefully hidden. I looked him over, and nodded my approval. I was really sorry, on the inside, to have to do this, but the Malfoy heir needed to be strong, he needed to be able to do all I planned for him. For us.

The week long, sometimes two week long stay in the dungeon has been going on yearly since then.

I had taught him how to fly, mostly because of battle techniques, and to show that he was superior when he got to school. Sometimes, when I would throw a comment at him, emotions would show through his mask, but soon those too were hidden away.

Eventually, the Hogwarts letter came, and my son was off. Before I took him shopping for supplies, I explained about the Dark Lord, and how someone named Harry Potter had 'defeated' Him. I explained about the school. Ordered him to not show ignorance. By the time he left, he knew it all.

I know his mother sent him sweets sometimes, and at first, I was angry. Jealous, even. But then I received a distressed letter from my son. It read:

_Father,_

_School is horrible! I miss you so. These classes are never interesting like your lessons. No blood, no torture! We are turning matches into needles…Well, maybe the needles could be of some use, but it is boring. _

_And there are so many people. The most I have seen since the Christmas ball a few years ago. There are so many adults, too, but they are nothing like you, dear father. No class, no pride, no intelligence. You were right when you told me the world outside was pitiful. Everything compared to you is pitiful, I suppose._

_I keep getting sweets from this woman who signs as mother… I know I have a mother, but why does she send me sweets? I would send all of them back just to come home. _

_But this is more training, is it not, Father? I want to be strong. I do. I swear this will be the last letter of this kind to you. I am a Malfoy, Father, and one day I will prove it to you, and you will be proud of me._

_Draco Lucien Malfoy._

I kept the letter with me, but never responded to it. It was emotionally packed, and my son shouldn't have emotions. But he knew this, had pointed it out, and deserved some leniency.

The school years passed. It was torture to only see my perfect son only in the summer. In his second year, I told him about trying to resurrect Voldemort. I explained to him that when the Dark Lord came alive, he would reward the Malfoys. I told Draco that if He ever rose again, Draco was to pretend servitude, but kill the old bastard, making way for me.

Draco had agreed instantly.

In my son's fourth year, the Lord rose again, and I was his faithful dog. My son acted eager to join up, and he did. Voldemort was pleased with him. The thought still makes me snarl.

By his sixth year, the savior of the Wizarding World was an emotional wreck, Voldemort had taken Azkaban over, thus releasing me, and everything was working out fine. Once I was free, Draco told me of his plans.

I always knew he would be great. I had done all this, worked, slaved, taught and shared, for my son. I had made him into this brilliant, handsome, cunning, powerful figure. The dream of mine has come true. Draco is covered in my former master, Lord Voldemort's, blood, and bowing at my feet.

It is the most beautiful sight I have seen in a long time.

Of course, Voldemort is still alive. Only Potter can truly kill him, but we will attend to him later. My clever son has cursed Voldemort so that his body can't die from bleeding to death. The pale, scaled skin of my former master's head is lying next to my kneeling son, the red eyes opened, rolling and glazed, the mouth open in a scream. Oh, yes, Voldemort's spirit was very much still attached to his body. Or rather, his head. My son now stands and lifts his own head, soft, platinum hair falling angelically around his crimson stained face. His silver eyes pierce me, and his now soft, deep voice asks, "Are you proud now, Father?" His voice is cold, unattached, but I notice him tremble with anticipation. Will I answer positive, or negative, I'm sure he's wondering.

"Immensely, my dear son." I walk next to my son and trace a gloved finger down the boy's cheek, smearing the blood. His beautiful eyes follow my every movement. I bring my finger slowly up to my face, and examine the red blood, before place the finger to my lips. His already stained lips part slowly, and I lean down to kiss his forehead. The boy shivers, not from fear, and drops again to his knees. "You have made me so very proud this night, my son." I purr gently. I extend my hand, and he takes it rising.

Together, we retire.

He is my son, my student, my slave, and my lover.

Together, we shall rule all.

**FIN**

**A/N**

**Disturbing, enough? Yes, well…I have a sick mind. It all has to go somewhere:D Review, please!**


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